


Sometimes It Snows in April

by Meelah



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull - Freeform, Disability, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 03:58:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6640468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meelah/pseuds/Meelah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bull is injured and stubborn, but Dorian is patient and clever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes It Snows in April

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wanted to write some smut from Bull's point of view—I love him so dearly that I usually just write everything from Dorian's perspective, that way I can project my worship through him since I'm so afraid that I can't do Bull justice. But someone described Bull to me as being "hyper aware" and I was interested in trying to capture that—why, through pornography of course. But then my smut needed some exposition and before I knew it the whole piece was infected with a serious case of plot and took five times as long to complete.

Bull doesn't need to see to be able to tell that Dorian is upset.

It is understandable, after all, and Bull would have avoided it if he could have. However, they had agreed on a meeting months before and just not showing up would have simply been unthinkable. Krem hovers somewhere behind Dorian, Bull recognises him by the clink of his armour and way his leather harness squeaks, the particular way he scoffs, annoyed—probably at Dorian for pushing through the door without listening.

"You said," Dorian says, he's out of breath and his voice trembling a touch and for a moment the impossible seems to have happened and Magister Pavus is actually speechless before he gathers himself again. "You said it wasn't _serious_."

"I'll leave you to it," Krem says and Bull can practically hear the eye roll.

Door closes behind Dorian and they are alone.

"Venhedis, Bull!" Dorian whispers and moves closer. 

Creak of the floor boards, thump of his staff against the wooden floor. Bull can smell him, sweat and horses, the damp wool of his travelling cloak, and the feel of tiny air currents caused by his movement. Somewhere close but not close enough to touch. 

"When it was Krem who showed up instead of you," Dorian continues, "I thought… the first thought I had was that you were—"

"Hey, kadan," Bull says softly, wishing Dorian would come closer. "I'm quite alive."

Dorian lets a deep breath out and swallows. Bull can imagine how he looks right now: in his dusty travelling clothes, gripping his staff and staring at him with an expression that can't decide if it's angry, concerned or just plain relieved.

"Look," Bull says, and tries to make it soothing. "I thought it would be best coming from Krem. I was hoping—well I was hoping there was a chance he might have been able to talk you out of _not_ coming seeing as there's nothing you can do, but if you had to come it was better for you to travel with him than—"

"Shut. Up!" Dorian hisses, and Bull decides that anger is without a doubt the emotion that is winning right now. "What did you think I would do? When he told me you were hurt, hurt badly enough to miss our rendezvous I knew it wouldn't be just a scrape but—"

Dorian voice _breaks_ and out of instinct Bull reaches out for him. His hand meets air, and then Dorian takes the final step and takes Bull's hand in his own.

"Amatus—" Dorian whispers, squeezing it tight. "Amatus, what happened? Krem said it was an ambush…" 

Dorian steps even closer, Bull can feel him ghosting his fingers over the bandages over Bull's eye.

"Your eye," Dorian whispers. "Oh, amatus…"

"It came from my blind side," Bull murmurs. "Got overwhelmed, too many of them. All I could was to step back so she wouldn't cleave my skull in."

Dorian doesn't say anything, but Bull can feel his pulse, how fast his heart is beating. They both know that what Bull does for living is dangerous, but this is still an unwelcome reminder of it. Bull hears the soft smack as Dorian's lips open and the breath he takes in, but he holds back the question. Bull is selfish, then, and doesn't answer it for him.

"Hey kadan," he says again, placing Dorian's hand on his heart. "Damn, it _is_ good to have you here though. I've missed you."

Dorian breathes out, Bull feels his posture changing, letting his weight press against Bull's. Forgiveness, yes, though not all the way there yet.

"Let me get out of my travelling clothes," Dorian murmurs, but doesn't move for a few more seconds. Hand on Bull's heart, feeling the heartbeat.

"You must be hungry," Bull says. "Could ask someone to bring you some food. The cook here is decent."

Dorian pulls away then, stiffness returning to his posture. He says nothing but Bull hears him move about in the room. Staff placed against the wall next to the door, then reconsidered and moved next to the bed. Thick travelling cloak discarded, placed neatly on the hook. Bull has gone through the room with his hands and committed every single nook and cranny and surface into memory and can walk around almost as he could see it. He stands up now and Dorian swears under his breath, hurrying to his side.

"Let me get you some dinner," Bull says, ignoring Dorian's arm.

"Will you stop that?" Dorian snaps. "Sit down before you hurt yourself! I can get food if I want it." 

Bull takes another step towards the door, ignoring Dorian again but this time Dorian grabs his arm.

"Bull _please_!" he says and it's the distressed tone of his voice that stops Bull more than the hand trying to hold him back. "Please. Please sit down and let me take care of it."

Bull turns his head towards Dorian and damn, he's been avoiding thinking about the things loss of sight takes away from him, things he can't enjoy that and this is one of them. He reaches for Dorian's face, big calloused hands gently sweeping over it, taking in his expression. Brow, in deep frown. Jaw, clenched. Lips—mm his thumb lingers there for longer but the tight line doesn't relent to Bull's tease.

"Please," Dorian says one more time, this time barely a whisper.

Bull nods slightly and returns to his chair.

The evening isn't the joyous reunion they usually enjoy after being months apart. Dorian eats mostly in silence, and Bull's attempt at lighthearted banter slowly dies out. Bed, afterwards, but Dorian dodges Bull's attempts to get romantic, stiffening at his touch.

"What's wrong?" Bull asks softly, hands sliding on Dorian's skin, feeling him shiver.

"What's… wrong?" Dorian hisses angrily. "I can't. I can't look at you, pretend— _like you are_ —that everything is fine and still get it up."

Bull's hands stop but don't withdraw. He's listening to Dorian's breathing, it's too quick and too restrained.

"It's fine, kadan," he says. "When you're ready."

.oOo.

Bull wakes up with pleasant morning wood, Dorian pressed against his side warm and asleep. Bull listens to his calm breathing until the need to piss is too strong and reluctantly he eases away, and sits up on the edge of the bed. Judging from the noises outside it must be still pretty early so Bull gives himself a long luxurious stretch and stands up. Krem had insisted on getting him the only room at the inn with en suite water closet—it had seemed such an overkill and unnecessary expense, so of course Bull had refused. Krem had sighed and relented and Bull has only found out that after Krem had left him in his room that it was indeed the one with the toilet. On a morning like this he doesn't mind it at all though, walking naked across the room to it.

It is then that he discovers that Dorian has brought his travelling chest with him—albeit too late. By the time Bull realises he's hit his toe into it he's already falling over, shin and knee painfully scraping against the wood and the ornamental metal. As much as he'd like to avoid the indignity of Dorian waking up to finding him stumbling over some minor obstacle like a child learning to walk, he can't stop the grunt of pain that escapes as he hits the floor, trying to brace the impact with his hands but knocking his chin anyway.

"I'm— alright—" Bull groans in a futile attempt to make Dorian stay in bed.

Dorian is by his side within seconds, of course he is, and doesn't say a word. And really, that's _worse_ than any swearing and yelling he could do. He just holds Bull, cradling his big head against his chest and—shit, _shit_ —he's weeping silently and Bull's heart feels like it's going to shatter.

"I'm alright—" Bull whispers, lifting his hand, finding Dorian's cheek wet. "I didn't notice your chest—"

"I'm sorry, I'm _so_ sorry," Dorian breathes, as if afraid to speak aloud lest his voice break. "It's my fault, I should have realised. _Please_ forgive me."

"Nothing to forgive, kadan," Bull says. And stays in Dorian's arms.

.oOo.

Bull humours Dorian then and lets him take over. Arrange his meals in the room, reading his letters to him and writing answers back. He's there when Bull talks to Krem about Chargers business, and for now, for Dorian's sake, he even ignores the fact that he knows the two men communicate wordlessly over him about his affairs and make decisions for him. 

So Dorian takes over—but only up to a point. Bull refuses to stay in bed—in bed _alone_ —and despite his gentle hints Dorian isn't in the mood. Bull makes it into a joke and laughs amicably but aches to touch Dorian, feel him trembling from it, hear his moans and—he wakes up in the middle of the night unbearably hard, almost shaking with need to touch and be touched. It would be so simple to gently roll Dorian onto his back and coax his sleeping body into a point of no return, then wake him up just to feel his climax and taste his seed, hear surprised short gasps resolving into breathless laughter, twitching cock in Bull's mouth. It's a game they've played and enjoyed but as it stands Dorian has withdrawn his consent so Bull doesn't. Instead he lays there awake and yearning until the morning's noises wake up Dorian and he can start another day pretending everything is fine.

The second morning Dorian takes Bull downstairs for breakfast. Bull has been happy in his room, knowing where everything is and going downstairs with all new noises and smells is almost overwhelming after a week of near silence. His hand rests lightly on Dorian's shoulder and he barely brings his body under control and not letting it tense to show Dorian his nervousness. 

“Here,” Dorian says stopping, taking his hand off his shoulder. “Table and a bench on your right.”

Bull nods, feeling the worn wooden surface and the grooves on it, moves his leg to feel the edge of the bench. He sits down in what he hopes is a fluid, casual movement, hears Dorian take a seat opposite him. Then Dorian’s hand is back, lightly on top of his, and Dorian's other hand moves too, probably waving the serving boy over. Bull’s brows are knitting in concentration as he tries to take in the noises around him and interpret them into a coherent scene. An open fire with something cooking on it. Group of women sitting on their right, he can hear three distinct voices. Another group behind them, but not talking so Bull can’t count them, dwarfs probably, based on the sounds their armour moves. Bull lowers his hand to his belt to feel his daggers there. Dorian interrupts his train of thought.

“It’s alright,” he says quietly, squeezing his hand. "Merchants. Skinner and Dalish on your left."

Bull turns his head to hear their soft greetings and nods a little. He wouldn't have detected them otherwise, and it fills him with both pride and apprehension. Bull wonders then if people are staring at him, a blind giant, wonders if _Dorian_ is staring and decides to go for a distraction.

“Should you be seen with me?” he asks lightly. “Aren’t we too close to the border? Someone might see us, you know, word might get back to the Imperium.”

To his surprise Dorian chuckles.

“I’m in _disguise_ ,” he says with amusement in his voice.

Bull can’t help it this time, with Dorian he lowers his guard and the tone of the words sink in like a punch in the gut. He manages to get his reaction under control but only after he’s pulled his hand away.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—“ Dorian starts, he sounds upset now and Bull hesitantly returns his hand on the table. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to make fun of you… I meant to make of myself, if you could see me—“ 

Dorian draws breath and takes Bull’s hand with both of his.

“Shit, you have no idea how much I want to,” Bull says quietly and Dorian takes his hand pressing it on his own cheek.

This is unusual for Dorian, public behaviour like this, even more so when he presses Bull’s thumb against his lips. Bull leans in, gently feeling Dorian’s mouth that this time opens to his touch and Bull is so tempted to slide the thumb in but—then he moves his thumb on Dorian’s upper lip.

“Dorian—“ Bull says, dismayed. “You have shaved your moustache!”

Dorian laughs, his voice is low and Bull imagines him—except for once he _can’t_ , even when running his finger across the smooth upper lip he can’t comprehend what Dorian looks like.

“This way I’m free to go out with you while—“ Dorian stops just for a second, he still hasn’t asked the obvious question. “—while I’m here. Even Mae wouldn’t recognise me like this.” Bull must look completely shocked because then he adds: “It’ll grow back.”

Dorian is vain, and proud of it. His moustache is one of his most defining features and Bull has laid in bed for hours watching him apply the wax and shape his moustache into the perfect shape he likes it. To shave it off just to be able to go for breakfast with Bull, to be seen with him—the thought squeezes Bull’s heart, and that too must show because Dorian kisses his fingers, still resting against his lips.

“Amatus,” he whispers quietly. “I think it’s time you take me to bed.”

Suddenly, breakfast is forgotten.

They've done this the other way often enough: Dorian blindfolded and Bull teasing him, at times with ropes but sometimes just to heighten his other senses. Hearing: watching Dorian move his head while Bull picks something from the table, straining his ears trying to figure out what it is. The clink of the belt buckle as Bull opens it, rustle of cloth as his pants fall to the floor and Dorian's quick smirk as he recognises the sounds. Touch: seeing Dorian’s face when Bull runs the flogger softly against his chest, seeing him recognise the implement from the sensation against his skin and how it makes him shudder in anticipation. Bull's fingers, caressing and then curling to sink his fingernails into the tender flesh, watching Dorian writhe. Smell and taste: Bull's hand, fresh with his own come, Dorian's mouth opening to hungrily lick it.

But this way is rare, and Dorian doesn’t tease him. He leads Bull to the bed by his hand, making sure he knows where it is so he can climb on, never further than an arm’s reach. Dorian's breathing is steady, and Bull can hear his hands sliding against the fabric of this clothes as he starts undressing.

"No," Bull says, voice low. "Let me."

Dorian says nothing but stops, again taking Bull's hand and bringing it to his hip. Bull doesn't care if he can see with his eyes or not, undressing Dorian is one of his favourite things, something to be savoured, and he isn't going to give it up lest his arms fall off. Bull tugs on a sleeve, figuring out where the robes are still closed, finding the buckles to open them. Piece by piece Dorian's clothes fall off, and Bull enjoys hearing Dorian's breathing change as his hands start to find bare skin. He struggles with the laces on Dorian's leathers, feeling Dorian pushing his hard-on to his hands.

"Bull, I can—" Dorian starts but Bull kisses him on the mouth to silence him.

His hands let go of the laces and move to Dorian's neck, cupping his head and pushing his fingers through the long hair, kissing him slow and deep like he's dreamed of doing for the months they've been apart. Pushes Dorian gently on to the bed to his back. Mouths clash against each other, lips crushing, and Dorian moans aloud for the first time. Bull eats the sound from his lips, hungry for more. He slides his hands along Dorian's shoulders and then down his arms, finally interlacing their fingers together. Temptation to hurry is there but Bull pushes the urge away and kisses Dorian again, tongue invading and tasting, pinning Dorian down while rolling his hips into him slowly.

Bull takes his time. Sight or not, Dorian is still Dorian, and doesn't he know every inch of his lover's skin regardless? Doesn't he know the way Dorian wants to be touched, to be held? Even now he recognises the odd tension in Dorian's limbs, he's not given up whatever he's worrying about—and for the moment Bull can push aside the thought and pretend not to know what it is. Another distraction, then, Bull decides and lets go of Dorian's hand, nudging his hips and then, with very little warning, flips him over.How it usually goes: Dorian, breathless and laughing at Bull's show of strength, hands trailing Bull's arms with an appreciative and inviting grin. But this time—Bull has estimated the size of the bed and their position on it slightly wrong. He hears how the air escapes Dorian's lungs as he's flung over and then hiss of pain as his knuckles hit the headboard.

Bull swears and reaches for Dorian's hand, finding only sheets.

"It's alright," Dorian says, his voice muffled a little because his face is against the beddings. "I'm alright…"

Bull's hand finally finds Dorian's, curled into a fist. Bull can't help a whimper escaping—it's one thing to fall over and hurt himself, another completely to be clumsy and hurt Dorian. 

"I'm alright—" Dorian says again releasing a breath, fist uncurling,. "I was just—surprised."

"Surprised?" Bull grunts. "It was my fault!"

He abandons his idea of eating Dorian's gorgeous ass and pulls up to sitting in his knees, hand only lightly on Dorian's lower back because he can't bear the thought of completely breaking contact.

"It's not even a scrape," Dorian says, he rolls onto his side, his body angled such that he must be looking at Bull.

For the first time as long as they've known each other, Bull wants to escape that gaze, doesn't want Dorian to see him weak like this.

"It could have—" Bull says drawing breath. "I could have—"

"You think you could have hurt me?" Dorian says and Bull can't quite interpret that tone. Amusement? With a hint of hurt pride. "Please, give me more credit than that."

Dorian tugs on Bull's arm, trying to encourage him closer.

"Amatus—" Dorian whispers. "Won't you let me—please. Let me do this for you."

"Is that how it is?" Bull says, backing off a little. "That's how it's going to be? Leading the blind man, spooning food into my mouth, emptying my chamber pots? Sucking my cock if I beg for long enough?" He's surprised himself at the vitriol of his words.

"No!" Dorian huffs, Bull can feel his chest rising and falling fast. "No, it's not how I meant it." 

He pauses and Bull, defensive now, wants to lean in and take over again, to show that he can still satisfy Dorian, can fulfil his expectations. But his newfound self-doubt and the pain in Dorian's voice stop him.

"I know what you're like, amatus," Dorian says softer, hand reaching to touch Bull's cheek, running fingers along his jaw. "I know how much you want to take care of me and my needs. And I love it and and I love you for it, always have. But—" Dorian swallows, his breathing becoming irregular for few seconds as he chooses his words very carefully. "I know that's what _you_ need. But right now, right _now_ —what _I_ need is do that for you."

Bull is quiet, then slowly he bends down and rests his forehead against Dorian's.

"You need that?" he murmurs, trying to make sense of the tangle of emotions squeezing his chest.

"I need it," Dorian whispers. "I need to feel—there's something _I_ can do."

Bull on his back then. Dorian, completely naked now, on top and still not teasing. Letting Bull feel him, slow to touch and move so Bull can better predict him. Mouth on his neck, chest, licking a nipple, blowing on it. Dorian's cock is starting to fill out again after the serious interlude and he's making sure Bull can feel it too, letting it slide, silky and firm, against Bull's soft belly.

"You feel good," Dorian whispers and Bull's hands find his hips.

Now: slow move of their bodies against each other, sensual and unhurried. Bull's cock, heavy against the crack of Dorian's ass but not in a hurry to penetrate anymore. Bull imagines just for few seconds that he’s just closed his eye and this is like all their lazy lovemaking is, a moment void of trouble and worry. 

And finally, being inside Dorian. Tight and hot, the slick sound his cock makes sliding onto Dorian's ass, Dorian’s quiet inhale, the way he holds his breath while he's still adjusting to the feeling. The way he adjusts his hands on Bull's chest, looking for a better angle with his hips. The breathy moan when he finds the right one and pushes down. Bull's fingers find Dorian's mouth to feel the shape of it, feel the expression on his face. Bull groans helplessly as images of what Dorian must look like right now flood his mind, dark skin flushed and body open for him. He feels Dorian squeezing his cock, and then he starts to move.

And hasn't it sometimes been like this, too, when Bull's eye has been closed? Dorian, Dorian, Dorian and nothing else, how Bull's world seems to condense into this single point in time, into Dorian above him, around him. Isn't this is what Bull has always loved about him? When Dorian is with him he allows himself to get lost in his lover's scent and sounds, Dorian's lips on his, his body around him. How vulnerable Bull allows himself to be with him, yet how safe he feels. 

It hits him then, on the edge of his orgasm, that this is what Dorian wanted to gift him.

The thought sweeps him away and Bull bucks his hips coming with a cry, a little surprised himself by the intensity of it. He can feel Dorian breathing fast above him, feel his long hair tickling his face and his hips are still slowly moving, his ass milking Bull's cock.

"Shit," Bull groans, reaching for Dorian pulling him in for those few missing inches so they can kiss again. 

Under his palms he can still feel sweat on Dorian's skin, how tense his body is—but this is the good kind of tense, Bull knows, from how his body arches and keens into his touch.

"Kadan—" Bull whispers. "Climb over here, let me suck you—"

He doesn't even have to finish the sentence, Dorian is shifting letting Bull's softening cock slide out. Bull feels fingers tracing his jaw, his lips, then two fingers parting them. Bull swallows around those fingers, licking them, tongue sliding between and around making Dorian gasp, his thigh trembling against Bull's shoulder.

"Just let me—" Dorian whispers and pulls his hand away, shifting his weight and his legs—Bull guesses to lean against the wall so he can tilt his hips… and yes—

Weight of Dorian's cock against his lips, and Bull opens his mouth wider to let him slide in. Dorian shudders at the feel of Bull's tongue, hint of teeth, and again Bull yearns to see Dorian above him, can imagine him lips slightly parted, that adoring and slightly surprised look he gets on his face when he first thrusts into Bull. Bull wraps an arm around him, encouraging Dorian to come deeper, while his other hand seeks the slick hole, still slightly loose and sticky with Bull's come.

 _Harder_ , Bull wants to beg but moans instead, pulling Dorian even closer. Dorian's hips jerk and even if Bull can't form the words the sentiment is understood and eagerly accepted. Dorian starts to fuck Bull’s mouth with slow thrusts, thrusts that rapidly become less and less controlled. Bull pushes two fingers deep into moist warmth of Dorian's body, reaching for his sweet spot and he can feel Dorian's muscles tightening as he gasps as if struggling for air.

"B-Bull—" Dorian rasps and Bull unwraps his arm from Dorian's waist, bringing his hand to Dorian’s face again to read it. 

"Dorian," Bull growls and he thrusts his fingers deeper.

He almost doesn't taste Dorian's come though he feels the helpless jerk of his hips against his chest and shoulders. What Bull is so intent on is reading the emotions on Dorian's face, the curve of his lip, the way his jaw tenses and then slackens. Bull's own breathing stops just so that he can hear every strained breath of Dorian's as his body twitches with the aftershocks of his orgasm.

"Oh—" Dorian whispers and then whimpers as Bull slowly pulls his fingers out.

They stay unmoving like this for awhile, until the heat of their bodies cool and muscles start to cramp. They never make it downstairs for breakfast.

.oOo.

Dorian writes letters.

Bull sits close by, his chair has been moved closer to the open window and he enjoys the sunshine on his face. He listens to the quill scraping against the parchment, comfortable with the knowledge that if he reaches his hand out he can touch Dorian. The quill stops and Bull hears the subtle change in Dorian’s breathing which means he’s considering his options, and then the quill is put down. 

“I guess you’re needed back soon,” Bull says trying to make it light and without turning his head. “There’s only so much you can do with letters.”

It’s been a subject they’ve been avoiding, just as they don’t discuss the healer’s refusal to make any predictions about Bull’s eye. But it has been almost two weeks and it’s the longest they’ve spent together since the Inquisition was disbanded. He can hear Dorian screw the top of the ink bottle closed and wipe the quill but he doesn’t say anything immediately.

“As much as I’d like to think of myself irreplaceable, they have managed without me,” Dorian says finally but he says it slow, pondering, not with his usual bravado. Not quite a lie but not the whole truth either. “They can manage a little bit longer.”

"You don't have to stay," Bull says and expects Dorian to argue.

But he doesn't. Dorian is quiet again, then Bull hears him arrange the papers on the desk.

"I've sent a word to a physician," he says finally. "I'd like you to meet him."

Bull shifts a little. "Sure," he says mildly and Dorian breathes out. Something is wrong. "You expected me to say no."

"He's a mage," Dorian says stiffly. "Maleficarum."

"Ah," Bull says. " _No_ , then. I thought you didn't approve that shit."

"He's—" Dorian practically grinds his teeth. "He's different. He only uses blood of willing donors. I—trust him."

Again, half truths, Bull thinks.

"You trust him? Or you _want_ to trust him, because of me?" Bull asks. "Let me guess, you know he's never broken that rule because you've never seen him do it."

"Bull please," Dorian says and suddenly he sounds so very tired, placing his elbows on the desk, pressing his face to his hands. "I don't know what else to do. You can't come with me, nor would you want to. You won't let me stay. I know you won't let me put you up somewhere safe. As soon as I'm out of the door you'll find something dangerous and precarious to do, no doubt. Why don't you let me do this for you."

" _Bleed_ for me?" Bull says and stands up so suddenly his chair almost tips. Dorian doesn't move.

"At least I _can_ do that," Dorian says quietly, voice muffled by his hands.

"No," Bull says again. "Fuck, _no_. Dorian, drop it."

Bull walks over to the bed and lays down, but Dorian is not wrong. At first the room and the inn felt like a safe haven but now his skin is crawling and his muscles are aching for action. He thinks about training with his men like this, learning to fight in a new way like he did after he lost his first eye. It would never be the same, though it could be _something_ —but in truth, he knows, is that this time he could never go back into the field like before. Dorian still hasn't moved, he knows Bull far too well not to interrupt his thought process.

Alternative, though? Bull has spent far too much time fighting blood mages corrupted by their hunger for power to know how dangerous this form of magic is. His company is full of former Tevinter slaves who have first or second hand experience of blood magic and it's costs—and even though Bull knows it often starts with the mage using their own blood, he's never heard of stories where it would have stayed that way. And having Dorian suggest this— _Dorian_ , out of all people—is disturbing and must be an indication of how worried and desperate he is.

"Kadan," Bull says quietly. "This I won't do, not even for you. _Especially_ not for you. But—" He flexes his jaw, frowns. "But if you know of mages who do not use blood magic—I reckon I'd be willing to try that."

It only occurs to Bull hours later, listening to Dorian's peaceful breathing while the man sleeps pressed against him, that this way Dorian had managed to make using regular magic sound like perfectly reasonable option, and even got Bull to suggest it. 

.oOo.

Training, then.

First time is not quite disastrous but not far away from it either, with most of the company gathering around the ring to watch. Bull tells Krem not to go easy on him and Krem—good at following orders, at least at times like this—proceeds to give him a good punch in the face before Bull has even had time to get his bearings. By the end of it he’s sweaty and out of breath and sore in places he hasn’t felt sore in since his early training days, but he feels more alive than he has in weeks. He's given some blows too but mostly received them, and only win he scored was wrestling against Grim when he was able to get a good grip and put his weight into use. 

Dorian doesn’t say anything afterwards, just applies cold to worst of the bruises.

But next day he takes his place amongst the Chargers and takes turns to train with Bull. They’ve sparred before of course, in and out of the bedroom, and once again Bull feels the tinge of regret for not being able to see Dorian’s magnificent form—and the second he loses himself thinking of this, he misses Dorian’s move and gets hit squarely in the chest with Dorian’s training staff. There is a murmur of approving laugh from the onlookers as he picks himself up and wipes off the sawdust.

“Come now,” Dorian says and Bull can hear his smug grin. “I knew you were easy but this is ridiculous.”

Bull wonders afterwards why he had thought that Dorian would go easy on him—but indeed it’s his lover who drives him harder than anyone else. Makes it up later, of course, fucks Bull in long deep unhurried strokes until bruises and scrapes are forgotten. Sucks him until Bull can’t think of anything else, until he has lights dancing in front of his eyes and comes so hard he forgets to breathe for a moment. 

And later, exhausted from exercise and sex, they finally talk about the future.

“I would give it all up,” Dorian says quietly, hand resting on Bull’s chest, head on his shoulder. It’s late and he’s relaxed and calm, but doesn’t sound sleepy. “Tevinter, Lucerni, Mae, all of it, in a heartbeat.”

 _You don’t really mean that_ , Bull wants say but he has heard enough lies in his life to recognise the truth when he hears it.

“I could give it all up,” Bull says then, trying the words out and is surprised to find that they too, are the truth. “Being a mercenary, Chargers. If you want me to. Come with you, run away.”

“I didn’t let you come then, and I won’t let you do it now,” Dorian says and Bull can feel his lip curl against his skin. “Amatus—I’m so selfish and weak that I can’t imagine a life without you, just listen to me weeping like a virgin pining after his first love. Try not to hate me for it.”

Said in jest but Bull hears it how it’s intended. _Please don’t send me away._

“Aw shit, Dorian,” Bull says. “As if.”

But it takes quite a few days for Bull to stop thinking about ways to do that anyway. 

.oOo.

Training, then.

“Insufferable,” Dorian exclaims the first time Bull beats him in the ring, but there’s pride in his voice.

.oOo.

“Elysande will be here tonight, or early tomorrow,” Dorian says one morning, not too much later.

Bull lifts his head a little too fast, sending water spraying from the bowl he’s using to wash his face.

“I’d like you to meet her as soon as she’s here,” Dorian adds, rustling the letter closed.

Bull nods slowly, reaching for his eye pad. He’s considered leaving it off—especially if in the future he will need two—and he has already joked with Krem about how much more badass it would be to just show both scars proudly. _My only regret is that I can’t see the terror and shock in their faces when they see that they’ve been beaten by a blind man,_ he had said and Krem had laughed, but his hand on Bull’s shoulder had lingered longer than usual.

The day seems to drag on slower than usual. They spend it the customary way—breakfast downstairs, training, and lunch Dorian likes to take in their room. Afterwards Dorian usually spends a few hours working on correspondence and reading, and often Bull is needed for Chargers business and he’ll sneak in few more rounds in the ring if he can. But today feels different, and he spends the time pretending to nap while Dorian pretends to read. 

“I won’t hold you to it,” Bull says abruptly, after Dorian hasn’t turned a page for several minutes. “But if you want to stay with me, I promise not to—well, I'll promise to _try_ not to be difficult about it.”

Dorian puts his book down and sighs.

"I won't be as naive as to claim that all we need is love," he says, his voice goes quieter indicating he's looking away from Bull. _Old habits die hard_ , Bull thinks, like Dorian's way of turning his head when he doesn't want Bull reading him. "But—" Dorian continues after a short pause. "I'd like to think that between us we're smart enough to figure it out."

Bull gets up slowly, stretching the stiffness out of his limbs. He walks over to the desk where Dorian has been sitting, feels his shoulders and leans in to wrap his arms around the man. That moment, no further words are needed.

And they go to see Elysande, together.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Prince's song "Sometimes It Snows in April", a song about how sometimes life doesn't go the way you want it to (well okay it's worse than that but the melancholy really resonates with me). But you know, we get sad and then eventually with help of our loved ones we move on. That's what this story is about—and I left the ending deliberately open because who's to say which option is the better one. As always, would love to hear your comments and interpretation.
> 
> I'm [birdscameflying](http://birdscameflying.tumblr.com) on tumblr. You can reblog this story [here](http://birdscameflying.tumblr.com/post/143305740736/sometimes-it-snows-in-april).


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